d disappear at will. Where its course was sandy it sank from sight,
creeping along on the bed-rock below; but where as at Pinal the bed-rock
came to the surface, then the creek, perforce, rushed and gurgled. From
the dark and windy depths of Queen Creek Canyon it came rioting down
over the rocks and where the trail crossed there was a mighty sycamore
that almost dammed its course. With its gnarled and swollen roots half
dug from their crevices by the tumultuous violence of cloudbursts, it
clung like an octopus to a shattered reef of rocks and sucked up its
nourishment from the water. In the pool formed by its roots the minnows
leapt and darted, solemn bull-frogs stared forth from dark holes, and in
a natural seat against the huge tree trunk Big Boy sat cooling his feet.
He looked younger now, with the blood washed off his face and the hard
lines of hunger ironed out, and as Bunker Hill made some friendly crack
he showed his white teeth in a smile.

"Pretty nice down here," he said and Bunker nodded gravely.

"Yes," he said, "nice place for frogs. Say, did you ever hear the story
about Spud Murphy's frog farm? Well Spud was an old-timer, awful gallant
to the ladies, especially when he'd had a few drinks, and every time
he'd get loaded about so far he'd get out an old flute and play it. But
it sounded so sad and mournful that everybody kicked, and one time over
at a dance when Spud was about to play some ladies began to jolly him
about it.

"'Well, I'll tell you,' says Spud, 'there's a story connected with that
flute. The only time I ever stood to make a fortune I spoiled it by
playing that sad music.'

"'Oh, tell us about it,' they all says at once; so Spud began on his
tale.

"It seems he was over around Clifton when some French miners came in
and, knowing their weakness, Spud dammed up the creek and got ready to
have a frog farm. He sent back to Arkansaw and got three carloads of
bull-frogs--thoroughbreds old Spud said they was--and turned them loose
in the creek; and every evening, to keep them from getting lonely, he'd
play 'em a few tunes on his flute. Well, they were doing fine, getting
used to the dry country and beginning to get over being homesick, when
one night Murph went up there and played them the Arkansaw Traveler.

"Well, of course that was the come-on--Old Spud stopped his story--and
finally one lady bit.

"'Yes, but how did you lose your fortune?' she asks and Spud he shakes
his head.

"'By pl